THE LIES WE TELL OURSELVES
by NiftyMagic101
Summary: Hannah Day, just a normal highschool student at the local school. That all changed when she got paid of visit from the Half-Blood gang. On the run Hannah discovers that she is capable than more than she could imagine.


Snow drifted down from an unseen sky. Her tangled orange hair poured out of her green rain jacket and swam in the shallow pool of her shoulders. Green eyes flicker under the light of the moon, making her freckles dance around her face.

Why was she here? If only she knew…

She glances up, but only for a second, just too take in her surroundings. A few meters away on an old wooden bench, sit a boy and a girl. They haven't moved since you got here.

The girls grey eyes crackle like a storm, her clothes are drenched, but she doesn't seem to care.

She reaches out and holds the boys hand, his tanned face turning bright pink.

In his hands he holds a pen, marked with a symbol too timid to show itself.

Compared with the girl he is completely dry.

His orange shirt stained with blood, leaps out at you like an ignited flame.

You turn and begin to walk away, a mumble of words float towards you.

You hear the voices getting closer and the frantic hurry of feet.

You don't even look back, there's no time, so you run.

Colliding with unseen objects, your face covered with scratches.

Your hand buries itself into your pocket and closes around a piece of paper.

You turn a corner and run straight into a boy with crutches and a man in a wheelchair.

"I'm so sorry!" you repeat until you start to believe it.

"No problem my dear," the man answers with a smile.

You nod and the try and get past them, but the boy sticks out his crutch to block your path.

Suddenly the sound of 20 water pipes bursting fills your ears.

You turn around and there stands the girl with a bronze dagger in hand and the boy with water flowing around him.

"You people are crazy!" you scream over the sound of rushing water.

"Miss Chase, Mr Jackson your frightening our guest." the man sighed.

The girl sheathed her knife and walked away, the boy clicked his fingers and his water wall collapsed.

The man wheels himself towards you.

"Hello Miss Day."

"How do you know my name?"

"We've been watching you for weeks now Hannah."

You turn around and see the boy and the girl standing behind you blocking your path.

You're trapped.

He continues, "This is Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase and Grover Underwood."

He says pointing to the different teenagers.

"And I am Chiron vice leader of Camp-Half Blood."

You back away, but a hand grips around your arm.

It's the boy.

Your hand still lies resting in your pocket.

"Let go Percy," you whisper.

"You have to come with us Han," his voice as rough as the sea, escapes his mouth like an old fishing song.

"Let go!" you shout.

You grab the crumbled paper from your pocket and throw it to the muddy ground of West-Side Park.

You shake your arm free and turn to face him.

"Don't mess with me Jackson," you say through gritted teeth.

An explosion of black glitters behind you and a howl like a wounded animal blasts from all directions.

Percy's eyes widen.

You turn to face your creation; a black hole has opened in the pave walk, growing in size every second.

Its groans and collapses in on itself.

Percy grins, "Good try Hann…" he's cut off by the deafening moan from the black hole, two paws find their way out and then a head of a wild animal.

Its skin tattooed with words.

It jumps out of its prison and growls through bared fangs.

You walk towards it with an outstretched hand; it sniffs it in silence and then licks it.

Its tongue feels like sandpaper.

You smile and climb onto its back, its skin is made of paper scribbled with party dates and short stories.

You lean down and gently whisper in its ear, "Take me away."

The paper animal looks up at the moon and howls, then with eyes of hatred looks at the Half-Blood gang.

With paper paws he strokes the ground and the jumps over Annabeth and Percy and runs into the country side.

You don't look back.


End file.
